


Hey, Homecoming Queen?

by EmeraldSage



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred is precious, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Organized Crime, And does not deserve this, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Emotional neglect, England's A+ Parenting, FACE Family, Fluff, Gen, In chapter 2, M/M, Rated M for Suicidal Thoughts, RusAme, Suicidal Thoughts, The Fluff Heals ALL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24068500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: A smile is as much a suit of armour as any dress.  And just as devastating.Or rather, when Alfred is neglected and forgotten by his family, he picks up the pieces and smiles. People often forget that when something breaks and comes back together, they’re never the same as they were before.  But the process of breaking and reforging oneself is never easy.
Relationships: America & Canada (Hetalia), America & England (Hetalia), America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 218





	1. does it weigh you down?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "homecoming queen?" by Kelsea Ballerini

The rooftop access door closed tightly, shutting off the soft murmur of voices coming from the hallway. Alfred sighed, breathing in the peace and quiet for a single, endless moment, before he pushed off the door and made his way to the edge of the roof. Plopping down on the low, flat concrete barrier that surrounded the ridge of manor’s only flat roof, he tipped his head back and tried to breathe through the push of anxiety hovering just past the edge of his awareness.

He hated the Kirkland Clan’s annual Yule Ball.

This year it had been even worse, as the ball had been both the annual gathering of the holiday joined with the celebration of Matthew’s first official deal as part of the family business. His father had spared no expense; they had the finest champagne, the most exquisite choice of flowers and decor, the most competent, well renowned chefs they could hire. The tailor had made a special trip to the manor to kit up the Kirkland clan for the eventful evening with custom suits. They’d had to celebrate, of course they did. The accomplishment of something his elder brother had been working towards for years…

_“How long have you been working on that project, Al?” the incredulous voice of his roommate demanded, and he turned tired eyes to the stubborn form._

_“Two ‘n a half years,” he said with a half yawn that stretched the word ‘years’ into something almost unintelligible. His roommate gave him a flat look._

_“And he’s not coming to the Fair?” The annual, regional science fair, where all the GT Tech and Science programs, along with all the private science geared programs with students under 18 presented their projects with often years of research behind them to various recruiters and talent scouts from agencies across the country. Alfred had worked for two and a half years on his working scaled model of Cygnus X-I and the accompanying research paper on Binary Star Systems with Black Holes. He was fifteen, and determined to land an internship for the summer, knowing it would only boost his chances of getting a scholarship when he graduated._

_“He’s not.” His mother was. She was so proud of him. She’d bought a ticket to fly half-way across the country to see him present, even though she could just barely afford the expense until her business took off._

_His roommate threw his hands up, exasperated, “Did he even have a reason this time?”_

_No. No, he didn’t. His father had ranted to him about frivolous expenses, and business sense, and a bloody science fair, Alfred?_

_He landed the internship, though. With NASA. His father never cared enough to ask._

He sighed, tipping his head back to watch the stars wheel through the sky, letting the light breeze brush through his hair.

What would it take, he often wondered, to make his father happy? To have green eyes _see_ him, see Alfred as who he was, and be satisfied. To be more than just - _oh yes, Alfred,_ and laughed off and forgotten once more the moment he was out of sight.

He was top of his class, captain of the swim team, and he’d interned in science programs across the country over the last two summers of high school. He was charming, perpetually cheerful, and everyone at school couldn’t help but love him. And maybe that was part of him, but it was also a mask that stopped people from seeing how often he cried himself to sleep at night. It was a mask that stopped people from realizing that his fathers forgot his birthday two years in a row, that over Christmas they would drag him to unbearably formal balls and then ignore him all night only to chastise him on his manners, that the realization of no matter what he did, Matthew had done it first, and better had given him an inferiority complex he hid behind a sunshine smile and overconfident arrogance.

It hid that sometimes, times like these, when he sat perched on the edge of the roof, staring at the stars, he would calculate the distance to the ground and _wonder_ …

_If I let go, would I still feel empty inside?_

There was an aching, gaping hole in his soul that his mom couldn’t fill. Every summer he spent with her filled the wound carved into his being, but it was like pouring water into a sieve. No matter how much love she poured into him, it would never be enough to burn away the knowledge that he was unwanted.

She tried. She tried, desperately, having an inkling of the hurt that happened when her son had to live thousands of miles away from her with his father. Joint legal custody had its pros and cons, and what little good she could do for him never measured up to the hurt done to him when he was away from her.

And there was something so painful and heart-rending in _indifference._

His grip on the concrete ledge tightened when he realized his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath, held it, and released it shakily. He tipped his head back to look at the start, counting constellations with their whispered stories coming to life in the back of his mind. His breathing calmed and his hands stopped shaking. And he was still Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones, sitting on the ledge of the manor’s roof while his family celebrated within the manor walls.

Still the kid with a plastic smile, a gaping hole in his soul, who got sent straight to boarding school as soon as his parents could bother to remember he was there. Still the kid who was faced with an office door that was always closed for him, with fake happy family pictures and all the wealth his father could command at the price of none of his love.

The door opened behind him, “Kiddo?” a familiar voice inquired. He didn’t bother turning around. They knew he was up here, and Luke in particular was an old hat at finding Alfred when he sought some space. “Your father’s asking for you downstairs.”

 _Is he really?_ His mind wondered scathingly. Perhaps only to chastise him for taking a moment to himself. He was part of the hosting family, so he had to be there, sanity bedamned. 

“I’ll be down in a bit, Luke,” he sighed, staring at the stars, “I just want a bit of air.”

There was a hesitant pause, and then the guard sighed, “You got it kiddo,” he said, “I’ll let them know.” There was some radio static over the guards shared frequency as Luke reported back. “I’ll be waiting outside the door, if you need me.”

Alfred hummed softly in acknowledgement, sighing again as the door slid shut.

He’s long known of revenge. And despite his father’s best efforts, he knew what kind of _business_ his family dealt in. The kind spoke of in whispers, with guns in the dark and knife sharp smiles. He knew what his family would expect of a wronged child claiming vengeance. But he wouldn’t give them that, either. He wouldn’t give them anything.

The best revenge against his family, the best revenge that could satisfy the aching, gaping hole in his soul... _his_ best revenge would be living well.

He thought of the envelope in his inner jacket pocket, four gleaming tickets to graduation waiting to be distributed. He thought of money carefully squirreled away in a swiss bank as a result of over ten years of planning. He thought of the acceptance letter and package tucked away in the desk drawer back in his dorm room thousands of miles away. He thought of _full scholarship_ and _excited to have you_ scribbled out in black ink smudged by the tears he’d cried when he realized what he was holding in his hands.

The door swung open again.

“Kiddo,” it was Luke again, “he’s getting pretty irate. You might want to start making your way down soon.”

“Just give me another minute, please!”

“Sure thing, kid.”

As soon as the door swung shut, he reached inside his jacket and withdrew the envelope with his graduation tickets. Four of them, one for each member of the family the school had on record, with more available on request. He broke the seal of the envelope and slid out one ticket, fingers brushing against its smooth, shiny surface. Crisp, silvery-gray cardstock, with golden lettering. As fancy as the school could be, at times. He stared at it for a long, thoughtful moment. And slid it straight back into his inner jacket pocket.

Holding the others fanned out in his hand, he shuffled around a bit to unearth another treasure from his pants pocket. Sliding the tickets back into the pretentious envelope they came in, he held it up in front of him, and with his other hand, he lit the lighter his cousin had given him over the summer.

And lit the envelope aflame.

He stared at the cheerfully burning flame, as it spiked and crackled, the scent of smoke rising, and then pushed himself off the ledge onto the roof proper. He dropped the burning envelope onto the concrete ledge, where it wouldn’t catch the building on fire, and whirled around to storm back into the room where the rest of his father’s world waited for him.

The door swung shut, leaving the envelope burning merrily in the breeze behind him.

**.**

Gravel crunched under worn boots in a repetitive, routine motion as the guards did their final rooftop patrol of the early morning before shift change. One of them looked over the ledge, idly noting that two days had passed since the Yule Ball and the landscapers were still finding misplaced flutes of champagne or glasses of half-spilled alcohol throughout the manor’s extensive gardens. That much was obvious even in the dimly lit predawn.

Luke, on that morning’s survey rotation, only sighed, moving towards the door, only to pause, and cast his gaze around the roof one more time, just as the sun crested the horizon.

And stopped.

“Luke?” his fellow guard called back, worried, when he noted that his partner hadn’t followed him out, “Something wrong? Did’ya see something?”

Something silver gleamed against the roof’s concrete ledge

It was paper, he realized with a jolt, once he’d come close enough. Cardstock, he noted, with a second glance. The fancy kind, and half buried under crushed gravel and...he brushed some of the dust with a finger and sniffed it, eyes widening... _ashes._ That would explain the smoky edges of the singed cardstock, half burnt out, along with the nearly burned envelope that had once held them. Someone must’ve set it alight, only, it had fallen to the ground, and the gravel smothered the flames before it could be burnt up completely.

Rotten luck that, to whomever had set them alight at least. Especially since they’d go straight to the boss now that they’d been found.

“Luke?” his partner called, rounding out to the door, worried.

“Found something,” he called back, “Just some burnt paper, but it looks like it’s mostly intact. Trying to figure out what it is.”

It was odd, he considered, that they looked so familiar. They were a silvery gray color, darkened with soot from the attempted burning. There were three of the little cardstock slips, and they’d all burned to different degrees. Some of the writing was completely illegible because of the soot, but some could still be parsed.

Hmm, something _-ation?_ Odd. A date on one of them, let’s see...May something, probably. At least the month was legible. Tickets perhaps? Huh, the hall name sounded familiar. Although, that was definitely an American address. He recognized the state name. Odd, wasn’t that the same state Alfred was...was going...to school in….

Alfred, who’d been on the roof two days ago. Who’d been the _only_ one on the roof in the last two days, aside from the guard changes.

 _Oh._ The realization provoked a painful swallow, as he stared at the half-burned evidence in his hands, and thought of the pained, tired young teenager who’d flown out the night before, half a week early, because he couldn’t bear to stay any longer. _Oh, kiddo._

They were _graduation tickets._

That’s why they’d looked familiar. His daughter had just graduated from sixth form and they’d had tickets too, to make sure the hall wouldn’t be overcrowded and so everyone’s family could attend. Three half-burned graduation tickets that would’ve gone to the boss, to his husband, and to Matthew.

“Luke, you just went white, mate,” his partner said worriedly.

“S’okay,” he murmured, “The boss would probably wants to see this”

And indeed, Arthur Kirkland did wish to see it. Once he’d dismissed the guard who’d found them, he spent precious time staring at them. He turned them over in his hands, fingers brushing over the ashy and soot-covered slips of cardstock, considering things he would rather not think about.

Arthur had long since gotten furious letters - then e-mails, and then phone calls as technology had updated and made communication across the ocean a far simpler matter - from his ex-wife about his treatment of their son, but he’d always thought she’d been jealous of how much time they spent together. They’d agreed to joint custody after a long discussion but after five years raising Alfred on her own she hadn’t been happy with only seeing him over the summers.

It had been better than nothing, which was the other alternative, so she’d taken it, but it had definitely embittered her towards Arthur. He’d assumed it had been that bitterness that had driven the persistent commentary about how he was raising their son, but….

His fingers brushed the singed edges of the crisp cardstock, against the soot which stained the pad of his thumb ink dark.

 _Graduation tickets,_ the guard had said, hidden worry in his eyes. It hadn’t escaped him that this was one of the guards that took special care in watching over his second son. They were fond of him, and the worry was genuine. He wouldn’t be surprised if the man was right. But if he was, why would Alfred not give them to him? There were three of them - one for each - and yet, if the guards hadn’t found them, they might’ve vanished on a breeze and they’d never have known.

Unless that was Alfred’s intention.

He scoffed, immediately dismissing the notion from his mind. He dropped the tickets into a drawer, closing it tightly. Perhaps the tickets were just wrong, or Alfred would receive more of them. There was sure to be an explanation that didn’t dip into ridiculous.

Whatever it was, he’d figure it out later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sixth Form is like your last few years of high school, for my fellow Americans who may have no idea what that is.


	2. darling, get a clue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "I Don't Need Your Love," from Six, the Musical

The soft chime of his alarm jolted him awake a few hours before his shift would start and he groaned. Stretching leisurely, letting the waking world wash over him, he blinked his way to consciousness and smacked his alarm clock to get it to stop ringing.

A snicker echoed around him, and his eyes widened.

“Good morning Ivan,” a warm voice followed the snicker, “too early?”

The Russian cosmonaut pushed himself upright and started wriggling out of his sleeping bag. He knocked his head on the top of his sleep station and cursed softly; he always ended up doing that. Warm laughter greeted him from the communication unit he’d left open, hooked onto his laptop to make sure it didn’t wander off. He reached over to snag it and clipped the small device onto his ear.

“Good morning,  _ dorogoy,” _ he returned, finally freeing himself from his sleeping bag. He grabbed the set of clothes tucked away behind his laptop and started changing, “And what do I owe this surprise to?”

“Just wanted to say good morning,” the warm voice said, just for him, and Ivan smiled as he wrestled into his day clothes. Pushing open the privacy screen he pulled himself out of his sleep station, waving idly at one of his yawning coworkers heading off shift. “You still sane up there, big guy?” it asked, highly amused as Ivan’s grumpy grumbles came through the comm.

“If I walk into Johnson’s floating toothpaste one more time, I might lose it,” he grumbled, side-eyeing said floating toothpaste before sidestepping it and grabbing his own. “But otherwise, fine.” He paused for a moment, watching the water bubble up and catch on his toothbrush, and said, voice impossibly softer, “Missing you,  _ dorogoy.” _

Sitting at his desk under the early glow of dawn peering in through the windows, Alfred Jones leaned back in his chair and smiled at the grumpiness and soft warmth filling his partner’s voice in equal measure.

“I miss you, too,” he said softly, not bothering to bite back the smile with no one around to see him this early in the morning. “Are you ready to come back home?”

Ivan eyed the latrine he’d suffered through for seven months, and then out the port window beside it, showcasing the absolutely incredible view he’d been able to take in every day. He would never regret his time up here, he knew. But there was something at home that not even the awe of working hundreds of miles above the Earth could give him.

“And see you in person again,  _ Fedya? _ ” he chuckled, “Always.”

At his desk in NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, Florida, Ivan’s lover, partner, and soon-to-be-husband smiled.

Alfred threw a quick glance at the calendar he’d pulled up on the screen, and bit at his lip. The niggling worry that had been slowly building the longer past the deadline the exploration was pushed only grew.

“You’re sure you won’t be late?” he asked, finally. There was a hint of worry in his voice, though he’d done his best to tone it down. They’d put in precautions just for this very scenario.

“ _ Darling,” _ his lover said softly, “I promise, we’ve done everything. We shouldn’t run any later than usual.”

“I swear to god, if you’re late to our  _ wedding  _ because you missed a security issue or forgot to run a system check -,” Ivan was scheduled to run one of those checks right after he went on shift today, actually.

“ _ Fedya.” _

Alfred huffed, “I’m allowed to worry.”

“Of course you are,” Ivan agreed, “But we will be on time. We will come home. Have heart, my dear. How did you put it when we scheduled the date this time?  _ Third time’s the charm? _ ”

Alfred snorted, “Yeah,” he said, thinking on the first two dates they’d had to reschedule to accommodate Ivan’s missions, “that’s the one.” There was a long pause as Ivan went about his morning ablutions, before Alfred sighed once again. “‘Suppose I should let you get to work, then,” he said, almost reluctantly. But in the end, they were professionals. As much as he missed his partner, they respected each other too much to interfere with each others’ careers. “Good luck, big guy.”

“I’ll talk to you later,  _ Fedya, _ ” Ivan promised, “Have a good day at work,  _ dorogoy _ .”

“You too, Ivan,” he said, as he signed off the comms system, turning to look at the rising morning sun, and picturing the station just as it hit the curve of the earth, “You too.”

Two weeks till the wedding. One week until Ivan arrived, barring - god forbid - anything going wrong with the shuttle.

He’d waited years for this. Years before he’d met Ivan, falling in and out of love. Years after he met Ivan, knowing that  _ this  _ was the man he wanted to grow old with. Years since they’d accidentally popped the question at the same time, and started planning the wedding.

He could wait the two weeks.

But god, the feeling of finally being able to call himself Dr. Braginsky-Jones would be priceless.

**.**

Matthew was damned proud of his job. He was good at it, too; a fact that had been the subject of no little amount of pride from his parents. He was happy to be the heir of their family business.

But…sometimes….

Sometimes, the bitterness caught him out. The helplessness. The inability to have made that decision on his own. He’d known since he was a kid that he would take over from Dad one day. Just as he knew, when Dad and Papa had told him about five-year old Alfred who was coming to live with them, who  _ wouldn’t  _ be part of the business, that Alfred would never understand what that meant.

It had always been there, coloring their relationship. That soft envy that Alfred would get to be  _ normal.  _ That he wouldn’t have to deal with learning how to use a gun, how to smuggle and steal and manage people in a way that left him weary and jaded and  _ tired.  _ That he wouldn’t need to know about knife sharp words, dangerous shadows, and having to be the best because people were always watching and waiting for you to fail.

Alfred would never have to deal with that. And Matthew was glad for it, of course he was. Happy, that his brother could be safe and normal and far away from a world that wouldn’t suit him. For all that Matthew had been envious as a kid of the freedom Alfred possessed, he knew he wouldn’t trade his life for the world. A normal life wouldn’t suit him anymore.

He wished he’d realized that a lot sooner. He’d let that difference come between the two of them. He’d let it push them apart.

He had a lot of regrets about his brother. Too many for a man in his profession.

But letting his relationship with Alfred lapse will always be one of the biggest ones. That he never reached out to the then-teenager about graduation, when they failed to get invited. Holding back from asking what universities he’d applied to, where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. Asking about Alfred’s mom and what they did over the summers, taking him out to do something fun and bond like they used to when they were five and nine, and still too young to understand why they were so different from each other. And maybe Alfred would’ve said no. He’d been in the grumpy teenage phase, it was likely. But he was the older brother. Maybe it was both their faults for letting communication lapse, but still, he could’ve  _ tried.  _ Maybe it was even safer for them to be so distanced - hell, he was sure that it was - but even then, a phone call every now and then could’ve gone a long way. Maybe, he considered as he stared down at his phone, maybe if he’d paid more attention, if he’d nurtured that bond, he wouldn’t have been so blindsided by this.

It was a picture. It was a picture from some popular blog that a friend of his brother had shared on Facebook, that had somehow popped up on his daily news feed. It was just a goddamn picture.

It was a  _ wedding  _ picture.

It was a wedding picture of two men, one tall and handsome in a pale gray suit with a lavender tie, and one painfully familiar form in the reverse, beaming, soft smiles as they stared at each other. They were dancing together on an outdoor dance floor lit by torch light adjacent to a massive tent just out of view, under a backdrop of stars.

And they only had eyes for each other.

The picture was captioned:  _ NASA aerospace engineer Dr. Alfred Jones and Russian Cosmonaut Ivan Braginski wed in an outdoor ceremony under the stars.  _

Ten years it may have been, since he’d last seen his brother, but he would never forget that face. Even when it looked happier than Matthew had  _ ever  _ seen his brother look before.

_ Aerospace engineer, huh? _ He vaguely recalled Alfred babbling about stars and black holes when he’d been home for Christmas one day, the first year Matthew had been attending uni, for some sort of project he was working on. But he did remember how many times his parents had the guards lecture Alfred for hanging out on the rooftops. Especially in the early years, when the teenager would forget to close the access door, and let the wintry weather in.

Even as a kid, Alfred had adored watching the stars. Fitting, then, that he’d gotten married under them to a man who walked among them.

He closed out of the blog post and pulled up his brother’s Facebook page, scrolling down through it until he hit a barrage of photos and videos, spread across various posts. He tapped at a video, fingers shaking as he shifted the grip on his phone to see the video better.

Laughter erupted from the phone’s speakers, and he nearly dropped it, clutching at the device as he glanced around his office furtively, as if he’d expected someone to have seen.

_ You’re paranoid, Matthew,  _ he chastised himself, pulling out his phone again and restarting the video, lowering the volume as it went.

Laughter erupted again, but this time he’d expected it, and this time, he  _ recognized  _ it. It was Alfred, he realized, watching with a wistful smile, as his brother laughed joyfully, his new husband lifting him up and spinning him around. His husband -  _ Ivan, right?  _ \- grinned at the laughing blond, setting him down in time to whirl him back onto the dance floor. They were still laughing as the video cut off, leaving the echo of cheer hanging precipitously in Matthew’s executive office.

_ Oh Alfie,  _ he thought,  _ you’re so happy. _

_ I wish I’d known.  _

Mind made up, he tucked his phone away and stood. He walked out of the office, past his startled secretary, and waved away his confused questions. He’d apologize for startling him later.

Right now, though. He had a phone call to make.

**.**

The deafening shriek of the phone broke through the otherwise blissful silence that had encompassed the room. On the bed, two bodies stirred. One, the slighter, unwound himself from the tangle their limbs had made overnight and brought a hand up to his face as if to scrub the sleepiness away. As he blinked into wakefulness, he reached out to snatch his phone from where it had been charging on the nightstand, absently swiping the screen to answer the call before he’d even woken up properly.

“This is Dr. Jones speaking,” he grumbled, darting a glance at the clock on his husband’s nightstand and almost hanging up at the sheer offense of being called at four in the morning on his day off.

There’s a hesitant silence on the other end. It goes on for nearly a minute, as if the caller was trying to gather up the nerve to speak. Alfred doesn’t care. It was four in the morning, he had a shit ton of paperwork to do when he actually “woke up” and he was still jet lagged from the honeymoon.

“Who is this?” he demanded, irate. He double checks the phone number - international, he notes, but not familiar - and because it’s four in the morning, he’s tired and jet lagged and has too much to do, he said, “And why are you calling at four in the morning?”

“ _ Alfred?” _

He dropped the phone, half-hanging off the edge of the bed so as not to wake his husband, and it clattered noisily to the ground.

He swore quietly when his husband stirred at his side, a half-conscious, “‘lfred?” slurred, before the quiet lulled him back to sleep. If the other man had been any less tired, it probably wouldn’t have been that easy, but after seven months in space, the wedding, and then a two week long honeymoon filled with traveling and adventure, Ivan was probably even more exhausted then he was. He sighed in relief the moment Ivan’s face smoothed out, quickly retrieving his phone from the floor and slipping out to the balcony of their apartment.

As soon as the door snicked shut behind him, he said, disbelieving, “Mattie?”

_ “...hi, Al.” _

“It’s been ten years,” he said incredulously, “and all you’ve got to say is  _ hi?”  _

_ “I can’t really apologize for that,” _ his brother said, though his tone was apologetic,  _ “only offer you my excuses, however justified I might think they are.”  _

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Puts you one up dad, at least,” he grumbled, “at least you called.”

_ “...yeah,”  _ Matthew sighed across the line, and Alfred could  _ hear  _ the resignation in that one breath.

“Was there a reason you called, by the way?” Alfred drawled, after a moment of settled silence, “Or did you just randomly want to wake me up before dawn?”

He heard the wince across the line,  _ “Sorry, Al,”  _ his brother said regretfully,  _ “I forgot about the time difference. I just...I wanted to say congratulations.” _

_ Oh. _

_ “I saw some of your pictures on Facebook this morning,”  _ his brother continued on, ignoring the shaken silence on Alfred’s end,  _ “I, well...I hadn’t realized you were dating anyone. I guess, I hadn’t been paying attention.” _

Well. At least Alfred could credit him for being honest.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating four almost four years now,” he said, instead of any of the sour comments on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t mention that they’d been trying to get married for two of those years, only Ivan’s expeditions into space overlapping any of their plans that prevented it. He wasn’t  _ angry _ with Matthew, after all. Just disappointed. He’d thought their relationship had been stronger than a few phone calls and a Facebook friendship.

_ “I thought, maybe,”  _ his brother hesitated, then pushed on,  _ “maybe it’s time I started paying more attention. If - if that’s okay with you, Al.”  _

There was a heavy moment of silence.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that, Matt,” Alfred said, finally, raking a hand through his hair, as he considered it, “I’m not going to come back to England. We might never see each other again. I don’t want to ever  _ chance  _ getting dragged into the business.”

_ “Ah,”  _ his brother winced,  _ “I’d wondered if you’d ever picked up on what it was we did.”  _

Alfred snorted, “I’m not an idiot,” he said wryly, “Dad was pretty obvious about it.” His tone turned bitter, “I guess I wasn’t important or relevant enough for dad for him to ever bother hiding it from me.”

_ “I…,” _ his brother sighed softly,  _ “I won’t dispute that. But I can’t disregard that you’re safer as you are, distanced from us.”  _

“A phone call isn’t much, you know?” he scoffed, “Once in a blue moon.”

_ “I know,”  _ Matthew’s voice was soft, before it shifted,  _ “I don’t expect anything from you, little brother,”  _ his voice was firm now,  _ “You look so happy, and I’ve never seen you this way before. That in itself says a lot. But… I wanted to tell you that I’m happy for you.”  _

His fingers tightened on the phone, “Thanks,” he croaked.

_ “Take care of yourself, Alfred,”  _ his brother said, warm and wistful,  _ “And give my best to your husband. I hope you two have a happy life together.” _

Alfred felt a smile curl on his lip as he glanced through the glass door separating the balcony from their bedroom, spying his husband sleeping peacefully on the bed inside. “We will,” he said. “Thanks Mattie.”

**.**

A week after his phone call with his brother, he received an email from the furniture store he and Ivan had been looking through when planning for their new house. They wanted to let him know in advance that a tab had been set up for them, fully paid, for whatever they wanted to purchase. And that was before they’d gotten a notification from their wedding registry that let them know that whatever hadn’t been gifted before the wedding had all been paid for and would be sent to their address once the orders were processed.

Ivan had triple checked with the store, then with the registry, but they refused to disclose the anonymous gifter. Alfred hadn’t bothered.

Matthew had always spoiled him.

After that particularly memorable occasion, it became commonplace for the couple to receive mysterious gifts and anonymous cards on special occasions. The fact that the anonymous gift for their first wedding anniversary, an all-expense paid vacation to the place they’d originally wanted to go to for their honeymoon but hadn’t been able to afford, had appeared mysteriously on Alfred’s desk at work signed only by a curlicue M was fairly telling.

Although he would rather have his brother than the gifts, Alfred took heart in their persistence. After all, it showed that even if Matthew couldn’t be there, he still cared.

That was more than he could say for most of his family.

**.**

He was neck deep in paperwork after his team’s latest mishap (read: explosion) when his phone rang. He blinked, taking in the darkened windows of his apartment office, before he swiped to answer the unknown international number flashing demandingly on the screen of his personal phone.

“Dr. Jones speaking,” he said tiredly.

_ “ _ **_Dr._ ** _ Jones, was it?”  _ the voice demanded pointedly, and he froze, incredulity warring with terror sliding like ice water down his spine,  _ “Another thing you’ve forgotten to tell us, then? When were you planning on informing me that you had gotten  _ **_married_ ** _?” _

Never.

“I swear to god Leslie, if you’re pranking me with one of those voice changer apps, I’m going to make your next pie with a carolina reaper,” he said, instead of the snarky retort he had locked behind his teeth. He already knew it wasn’t a prank. It sounded too much like the entitled Arthur Kirkland he’d grown up knowing to be anyone else. Lord knew he’d expected something like this when Matthew had called him nearly two weeks ago.

_ “Excuse me?! Have you let your manners lapse since last I saw you?”  _

But that definitely didn’t make it any easier.

“Well, I  _ beg _ your pardon, but you can understand my skepticism,” he retorted icily, “that when you haven’t contacted me in just over  _ ten years,  _ the likelihood that you would do so is spectacularly low.”

His father scoffed,  _ “Regardless,”  _ the other man drawled dismissively, _ “that’s not why I’ve called,” _ the bastard brushed away his irritation.

_ Oh really? Never would’ve guessed. _

_ “We obviously need to discuss this lack of information. I’ll be expecting you in London next week. My secretary will reach out to give you the flight confirmation. We’ll continue the conversation then.” _

“You’re kidding, right?” he demanded, incredulous. “I have a life, I have a  _ job.  _ I can’t just fly half-way across the world to meet you on your say so.”

His father bristled across the line.  _ “Well,” _ the man growled.

He cut his father off before the man could spew anymore entitled bullshit, “Look,” he said, deliberately firm and uncompromising, “I have a meeting in New York coming up at the end of the month. If you want to talk to me, you can meet me there. I’ll send the address to Mattie, and he can forward it to your scheduler.”

_ “Alfred, don’t you dare -,” _

He hung up on his father’s outraged spluttering with a truly ridiculous amount of satisfaction.

**.**

It wasn’t hard, planning around his father. Others in the business would probably disagree, but Alfred himself had one key advantage.

He wasn’t important.

He brought no advantages to Arthur’s underground empire, no business success or contacts. He was a civilian, with no relation to the underground except who his father and brother were. And that too, he’d severed those ties the moment he came of age. He wasn’t in any way significant to his father, outside of the challenge to his control. Even if Arthur  _ did  _ try to kidnap him, the likelihood was that it would only be if it was convenient for him. He just wasn’t important enough to be worth a thorough effort.

It used to hurt.

But he’d rather have that toxicity out of his life than poisoning him slowly from the inside. And now, he could use that understanding of his father’s behavior as a sword and shield against the man himself.

Sitting down in the outdoor cafe he’d carefully selected, two blocks down from the usual meeting building NASA used, and five plus a metro trip from the one they were currently using, he brought that knowledge to the forefront of his mind again. Especially as he knew his father was already on his way. He’d gotten there early to make sure he wouldn’t come in on the back foot.

He inhaled a shaky breath the moment he caught sight of the familiar figure making his way across the street. He stirred his coffee, biting back a smirk when the figure stuttered in his walk, obviously noting Alfred’s presence with a measure of surprise.

“Alfred,” his father greeted him disapprovingly when Alfred didn’t stand up to meet him, only gesturing to the chair opposite him. He pointedly ignored, but didn’t miss, the two suits that had come in on his dad’s heels, and had settled in the open seating of the busy cafe. “You’ve grown.”

Alfred snorted, giving his father almost the exact same look in return, “Yeah,” he acknowledged, “That’s what happens when you don’t see someone for over ten years.”

Arthur bristled, opening his mouth to deliver a no doubt sharp retort before inhaling. Exhaling. He cleared his throat to compose himself, straightening as he looked at Alfred like he was a misbehaving child.

“While that’s true,” he began, tone scolding, “who is  _ really _ to blame for that? Really, Alfred. This, this  _ pouting  _ of yours has gone on for far too long. You leave right after secondary, go running off to the States without telling anyone, and getting  _ married  _ of all things. And to some...some Russian astronaut.” The sneer in his voice was  _ audible,  _ even if he’d refrained from letting the expression come to his face. It had Alfred’s hackles rising even though he’d already been prepared for Arthur’s condescension.

“He’s a  _ cosmonaut, _ ” he corrected icily, not bothering to address the other issues. And sure enough, Arthur just raised a scolding brow, and carried on.

“Whatever he may be, you didn’t even have the decency to inform us about it!” he scolded, “I’ve never met the bloke, and we had to find out from your  _ brother,  _ who found out by chance!” The irritation in his father’s voice was genuine, as if Alfred not telling him that he was getting married was actually a cause for irritation.

And in a way, Alfred knew it was. After all, just because he had no interest in Alfred didn’t mean he couldn’t see the advantage of having Alfred conveniently marry into an allied family, or someone who could further benefit the business.

Alfred  _ knew  _ his father. Even if the reverse had never been true.

_ “My  _ pouting?! Like...wow. Just wow,” he shook his head slowly, taking a second to process that excuse, “That level of self-delusion, just  _ wow.  _ I’m actually impressed.”

Arthur’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed, “Excuse me?” he growled.

Alfred laughed, “You think you’re that important? That I would deliberately build my own life with the focal point of snubbing you? Wow, that’s just -,” he couldn’t even say it. He shook his head.

“It’s been ten years, you know?” he said instead, “If I’d ever mattered to you, you would’ve noticed sooner. I wondered, that first year, if you would ever reach out. But I’m way past caring now. I’ve past GO, collected $200 and walked out. You don’t matter to me anymore.”

He straightened, piercing his father with a sharp look of his own, not letting Arthur regain a second wind, “I am a writer, a scientist, I have worked on groundbreaking projects for some of the most acclaimed institutions in my field. I have fought for diversity in my field, I’ve stood up for my coworkers in suits of injustice. I am so much more than what you think of me, and I can’t even bring myself to care that you’ve never noticed.”

He stood up, “This is the last time I’m ever going to contact you. I have no intention of speaking with you again.”

And, leaving his father utterly stunned, he walked out.

Pushing through the crowd, he scanned the sidewalk and street around him. As he turned towards the corner, he made note of the idling van across the street and a pair of suits waiting at the traffic light, as if ready to cross.

_ Gotcha.  _

Well, here went nothing.

**.**

Arthur Kirkland stared, still stunned, at the seat his youngest son had just vacated. Presumably, his mind noted, attempting to walk out of his life.

“Boss,” a voice whispered into his earpiece, the one he’d worn to the meeting for emergencies. Or, in the event that Alfred turned out to be more stubborn and intractable than usual. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to grab him. The crowds are too thick, we can barely keep sight of him.”

That snapped him out of his funk, and his eyebrows drew together, “Follow him,” he ordered, glad, at the least, that his last ditch plan was coming to use. Alfred might think he can just walk out of his family life without a word, but Arthur had planned for all eventualities. “Take the van two streets down and one of you call in and see if they can check the flights under his name. I want any and all information now.”

He stood, pushing back the chair abruptly, and walked out. His two aids followed him as he crossed the street and entered the car waiting for him.

“Sir,” one of them said a moment later, “I have his hotel information.”

Good, that meant they could just grab him tonight - 

“But it looks like he’s rooming with someone else. They’ve got two people’s payment information on the room confirmation, and not the husband you mentioned sir. Presumably, it’s a coworker.”

Alright then.

“His flight information?” he demanded instead.

“We don’t have access to the legers,” another aid said through the speaker in the car, sounding as dismayed as Arthur felt, “we’re working on it, but we have to hack into the system since we don’t have anyone in the airlines on this side of the pond.”

“Travel itinerary? Meeting information?”

“No itinerary sir, only that he and his coworker are traveling separately,” another voice on the speaker piped up, “the coworker is flying down to Houston tomorrow evening. No meeting information either, sir. We’ve checked the usual meeting spaces but it seems the conference isn’t NASA sponsored, so we don’t know where they’re meeting.”

“We just got access to the flight records, sir,” his aid in the car chimed in, scanning a tablet, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Unfortunately, of the three Alfred Jones’ who’ve booked tickets flying out of New York sometime this weekend through the week, none of them match your son’s profile. We’ve checked the greyhound and the Amtrack as well sir, but there are too many buses that leave the city on a regular schedule to even begin the search there. Especially without a proper base. None of the tickets correspond.”

[Amazing how they didn’t even consider looking under Alfred’s married name. If Arthur even  _ knew  _ his married name, though, was something else to consider.]

“Sir,” another voice came in, one of the suits on the street, “we’ve lost him. We think he went down to the tube, but our guy in the tube station didn’t catch him in time to see which train he took. It was a transfer hub, too, sir. He could be going anywhere.”

And at that, Arthur Kirkland simply had to face that for the first time, in a very long time, he’d been outsmarted. Outsmarted by a mere civilian  _ boy _ who didn’t even play his game.

**.**

Three days, four airports, five layovers, and a new phone number later, an exhausted Alfred flopped into bed. Ivan, who’d been hovering worriedly around the younger man since he’d found out about the concerning conversation that would take place in New York, wrapped him in a warm hug.

“How did it go?” he asked, concerned. He’d gotten the whole story about his husband’s childhood and family after they’d gotten engaged. He’d never dreamed it would come back to haunt them after ten years of radio silence.

Alfred curled into him and smiled, basking in the simple, warm happiness that came from the life he’d built.

“It went well,” he said, resting his head against his husband’s shoulder and melting into the hug. He loved Ivan’s hugs. “For me, at least. For us.”

Ivan smiled. “Good.”

And that was that.

**end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The descriptions of the ISS came from [this video](https://youtu.be/XkM_04Ch76E) touring the kitchen, bedrooms, and bathroom of the ISS from 2012. Please note, I have no experience with the International Space Station.

**Author's Note:**

> Sixth Form is like your last few years of high school, for my fellow Americans who may have no idea what that is.


End file.
